


when i say okay (let's give it a go)

by seeingrightly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/F, First Kiss, Future Fic, Genderswap, Mistletoe, Sexswap, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 06:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seeingrightly/pseuds/seeingrightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s mistletoe.</p>
<p>It’s the winter break during Stiles’s freshman year of college, she’s never kissed anyone, she’s snowed in at Derek’s stupid apartment with Erica, and there’s mistletoe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i say okay (let's give it a go)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megankelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megankelly/gifts).



> Title from Charlene Kaye's "Strike a Chord".
> 
> Possible trigger warning: this fic features some anxiety that could be viewed as the beginnings of a panic attack, so if that kind of thing triggers you, tread carefully or don't read for you own health.
> 
> This fic features always-a-girl!Stiles. It also passingly features always-a-woman!Sheriff Stilinski, and passing discussion of the following potential relationships: Scott/Isaac, Scott/Allison, Lydia/Boyd.
> 
> The original prompt was Sterica snowed in, and at first I drabbled something about the pair watching Batman movies together, but then a few weeks later I wanted to write Christmas-y fic so I added some mistletoe, and then Stiles became a girl, and then the movies ceased to factor into things? Don't ask me.
> 
> Thanks to Megan for the prompt and Alicia for the beta job.

There’s mistletoe.  
  
It’s the winter break during Stiles’s freshman year of college, she’s never kissed anyone, she’s snowed in at Derek’s stupid apartment with Erica, and there’s mistletoe.  
  
They’d known there was supposed to be some snow, of course, but nobody’s tires were exactly suited for more than a few inches, and even though Erica could walk through the unexpectedly nasty weather no problem, Derek – all comfy and warm at Scott’s house, probably sipping Ms. McCall’s hot chocolate as he spoke to them on the phone – told them to wait it out.  
  
“How long until it’s supposed to stop snowing?” Stiles asks. She’s lying upside-down on the uncomfortable, blocky Ikea couch Erica had picked out, blood rushing to her head where her cropped hair just barely brushes the carpet and making it a little hard for her to speak.  
  
“Another hour at least,” Erica says. She’s pacing, on the other side of the coffee table, phone in her hand. A Christmas episode of Fairly Odd Parents is playing on the television behind her; Stiles isn’t sure why they have it on because it’s common knowledge that Fairly Odd Parents hasn’t even been good in years, since they added that baby. Sometimes Stiles wonders why Derek gets so many children’s channels, but it’s probably because he hasn’t updated his cable plan since most of them were in high school.  
  
“Why don’t you, you know, sit?” Stiles asks, righting herself on the couch and righting the stupid clingy sweater (not that there was much for it to cling to) she’d had forced on her for the party. “I’m sure they won’t do presents without us, especially because they sent us back here to get the ones Isaac forgot. Although we’ll probably miss all the food. You know they’re not good at waiting. Or saving leftovers.”  
  
Stiles sighs.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Erica says. She stops pacing, her skirt swishing around her thighs, but her shoulders are tense, and she glances over at the mistletoe that’s hanging along the ceiling at intervals of about a yard. Derek still hasn’t managed to instill stealth in any of the werewolves, really.  
  
“Who put all the mistletoe up, anyway?” Stiles asks, and Erica jumps a little, before moving to sit down on the other couch.  
  
“I think it was Isaac,” she says with a shrug. “Maybe he was hoping to catch Scott – but now Scott’s invited Allison to the party, right? Are they on again?”  
  
“I guess? Maybe it was Boyd. No, that doesn’t make sense – Lydia doesn’t come here if she can help it, so why would he?”  
  
“Boyd’s not the type to put up mistletoe anyway.”  
  
Erica doesn’t sound bitter or anything as she says it. Stiles isn’t sure what the deal was with her and Boyd – never has been. She think they haven’t been dating for a while now, but from what she heard from Scott from what _he_ heard from Isaac, they still, like, make out and stuff sometimes. Maybe they’re fuck buddies? Stiles doesn’t really think about it if she can help it. It’s not her business, and there’s no reason for her to care, anyway.  
  
Maybe Erica’s just really good at hiding her bitter feelings about it? Stiles is no longer a mess over Lydia, though that mostly happened as a result of Lydia flat-out telling Stiles that her feelings for Lydia were less “idolatry girl-crush” and more “big lesbian crush that will never result in anything”. There have been less tears and more boob-oriented porn in Stiles’s life since then; maybe Erica is using porn to get over Boyd, too.  
  
“So,” Stiles says, drawing out the vowel. Ignoring the mistletoe is probably the best tactic, right? Also ignoring Erica’s boobs. She isn’t great at that one generally – even when she thought she was 100% straight she couldn’t ignore them – but she can try to avoid glancing at the deep cut of the green sweater tucked into her short black skirt, and the way Erica’s curls tumble over her shoulders to frame it.  
  
Stiles is staring at her jean-clad lap, tugging at the hem of her own red sweater, when Erica speaks.  
  
“How’s school?” she asks neutrally.  
  
Stiles squints; she can’t tell if Erica actually cares.  
  
“I mean, it’s fine. It’s probably good for me that I’m too far away that I can’t come home every weekend that I want to, I guess. Scott says things back here have been kind of boring?”  
  
“Yeah, those of us who are just taking community college classes are trying to figure out what we want to do. Isaac will probably follow Scott into veterinary stuff. Boyd and Derek have been talking about becoming mechanics.”  
  
“What about you?” Stiles asks.  
  
“I’m not really sure,” Erica says.  
  
“I may not be a werewolf, but I can practically smell your bullshit from over here.”  
  
Erica glares, then looks away.  
  
“I mean,” she says, “I’ve been thinking about becoming a cop.”  
  
Stiles blinks, then blinks again.  
  
“Really?” she asks.  
  
Erica shrugs, crossing her legs.  
  
“Yeah, I mean, now that your mom knows, it’s been super helpful to have someone with, you know, any kind of legal power, let alone the sheriff of the county, on our side and able to help. So I figured – I don’t know if I’d be any good, though.”  
  
“Sure you would,” Stiles says with a grin. “You’ve already got the intimidation thing down. You’d send ‘em running with their tails between their legs. Pun possibly intended.”  
  
Erica rolls her eyes and scoffs the way she does whenever she’s complimented on something other than her looks, but when she glances back at Stiles she looks a lot less uncertain, more relaxed.  
  
“I’m sure my mom would be willing to talk to you about it some time, you know,” Stiles offers. “If you want to come over or whatever. She can tell you what training is like, and you can talk about how your furry little problem might affect your work, and all. Just, you know, text me whenever and I can tell you if she’s around.”  
  
Stiles makes an awkward pointing gesture toward the phone still in Erica’s hand, then goes back to tugging at her sweater. Erica grins, looking more certain than she has the whole time they’ve been holed up.  
  
“Who forced you into that, anyway?”  
  
“Allison said it was either I let her dress me or let Lydia do it, so I chose the lesser of two evils. Which was still pretty evil, if you ask me.”  
  
Stiles kicks out a foot, and, as if to prove her point, the too-loose black flat slips off and collides with the coffee table. Erica snorts, but she shakes her head.  
  
“Doesn’t look too evil to me,” she says as Stiles bends down to put her shoe back on.  
  
She’s still bent over when she looks back up and sees Erica’s usual, confident smirk appear as she glances down at the tight sweater and even tighter jeans. That’s the smile she used on people at school, Stiles knows, the one she uses when she knows what she wants and how to get it. Stiles feels her face heat up, and she swallows.  
  
Sure, Erica confessed years ago to having had a crush on Stiles in early high school. But that had been literally the only time anyone had ever admitted that kind of thing to her – still was, actually – and it had been in the middle of the whole kanima thing, and Stiles hadn’t yet known she’d liked boobs herself, and had just generally been unsure of how to respond to it. Plus, Erica hasn’t expressed any kind of interest in Stiles’s boobs or anyone else’s since then, so Stiles has been able to kind of mostly block the memory.  
  
There were days, of course, where Erica wore an especially tight skirt and Stiles hopped into the shower hours later, thinking about leather and the phrase “worst crush in the world,” feeling mildly guilty but not stopping herself or her hands. But mostly, she hasn’t thought about it, and she definitely hasn’t thought about the possibility of this, the look on Erica’s face as she looks at Stiles.  
  
But Erica’s not doing anything, and her shoulders have tensed again, and Stiles licks her lips and glances up at the mistletoe again. She can’t help it. Erica grins.  
  
“How long do we have?” Stiles asks, and she doesn’t _mean_ anything by it, but Erica laughs as she looks at her phone.  
  
“Twenty minutes,” she says, and she tosses it onto the cushion next to Stiles as she stands and walks over.  
  
Stiles is smaller than Erica and she doesn’t really know what to do with her hands when Erica kneels on either side of her thighs, lowering herself most of the way but not putting her full weight on Stiles’s lap. Erica steadies herself on the back of the couch and her boobs are kind of seriously really right in Stiles’s face and Stiles is pretty sure she’s allowed to stare at this point so she does, tentatively placing her hands high on Erica’s waist, because that seems like a safe spot. Maybe. Her face feels brighter than her sweater.  
  
“Stiles,” Erica says, and Stiles pulls her eyes away from Erica’s cleavage. Erica smirks.  
  
“So,” Stiles says again, and Erica kisses her.  
  
Erica’s lips are smooth against Stiles’s, pressing firmly, and it takes Stiles a second to press back, squeezing her eyes shut. Erica pulls away, and Stiles breathes in sharply through her nose, her hands clenching against Erica’s waist. She doesn’t open her eyes.  
  
“Stiles,” Erica says again. “Relax.”  
  
Stiles snorts. Erica plants her hands on Stiles’s jaw, and Stiles looks up at her.  
  
“Seriously, calm down. I’ll teach you what to do. Just don’t hyperventilate on me. That’s not great for a girl’s self-esteem.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t know how to point out that Erica’s not the problem. She doesn’t know if she _should_ point out that this would happen with literally anyone, that Stiles might fall into a panic attack if she was kissing Lydia or a drunk stranger at a party or, you know, Scott, who she trusts more than anyone else. She’d be freaking out no matter what, but yeah, the fact that it’s someone super hot _and_ someone who’s actually interested in her? That definitely isn’t helping lessen the pressure.  
  
“You’re not great for a girl’s self-esteem,” Stiles mutters, and it comes out sounding a lot more wry and a lot less insulting than she’d meant it to.  
  
“Really?” Erica asks. “My suddenly-less-hopeless big bisexual crush on you isn’t making you feel good about yourself at all?”  
  
“So that’s still a thing, then?” Stiles asks, and she’d look down at her lap but Erica’s boobs are in the way.  
  
“I’m gonna kiss you again,” Erica says. “Don’t freak out this time.”  
  
She stops, looking thoughtful.  
  
“I mean, I’m not going to change my mind or anything if you do. Just – you don’t need to freak out because you think you’re going to do a bad job or something. Me and Boyd made up everything at first. I know how that goes.”  
  
Stiles’s cheeks go pink again and she instinctively ducks her head and her hair brushes against Erica’s chest. Stiles chokes back a laugh and looks off to the side. She knows she doesn’t need to be panicking but it’s kind of happening anyway; this is a big deal, even if Erica’s being ridiculously understanding.  
  
“Stiles?” Erica asks. She sounds concerned, now.  
  
“Sorry,” Stiles says. “I – sorry. I just can’t – I don’t know.”  
  
Stiles doesn’t matter what she does, but at the same time it does. She has literally no idea what to do with her body, and she just wishes she’d done this before so it didn’t feel like such a big deal. It’s not even that she thinks she’s going to mess up or something – but knowing she hasn’t done it before, that it’s _supposed_ to be a big deal, has her freezing up.  
  
“I can stop,” Erica says. “I can, you know, not be sitting on you?”  
  
“No,” Stiles laughs. “I’m just overthinking everything now. I think I need to kind of – get it over with? I don’t know.”  
  
“Romantic,” Erica huffs, but she smirks and settles in again. “Okay. I mean it this time. I’m going to kiss you now.”  
  
Stiles tilts her head back to meet Erica this time, still squeezing her eyes shut too tightly but letting Erica take control of the kiss. Erica’s gentle at first, pressing short, quick kisses to Stiles’s lips, and when Stiles doesn’t freak out again she moves onto something that requires Stiles’s participation, lengthening them, changing the angle. She sucks Stiles’s bottom lip into her mouth and Stiles’s breath catches. Erica grins, her teeth caught around Stiles’s lip.  
  
Stiles is glad she convinced Allison to forgo make-up, because Erica’s red lipstick is probably, like, everywhere. Erica slides her tongue between Stiles’s lips and Stiles slides her hands downward – maybe if she doesn’t focus so much on one thing she won’t be able to overthink it. Her hands pass the bottom of Erica’s skirt and over her tights and, after a moment’s hesitation, Stiles slides her hands up underneath the skirt, resting them high on the back of Erica’s thighs.  
  
Right as Erica does something really weird with her tongue that makes Stiles’s insides flip-flop, her phone rings. She pulls back with a curse and kind of sits on Stiles’s lap fully, so Stiles leaves her hands where they are and focuses on breathing deeply and on Erica’s boobs rather than the conversation. When Erica hangs up, she throws the phone back down and groans.  
  
“What?” Stiles asks.  
  
“We can head back to the party now, and also Derek says not to have sex on his couch.”  
  
“Oh my god,” Stiles wails, letting her head fall against the back of the couch. “And you _know_ everyone heard him.”  
  
“Is that – ” Erica pauses. “Is that a problem?”  
  
“What?” Stiles asks. “No! I mean. No. Jesus. Like, it’s kind of embarrassing in the sense that I’m pretty sure everyone thinks I’m being deflowered or something right now and it’s not even _true_ , but – no, Erica. I would not have a problem with basically everyone in the world knowing about this, oh my god. Except for my mom, maybe. I should probably tell her in different terms.”  
  
Erica ducks her head. One of her hands slides down to adjust the neckline of Stiles’s sweater. Her voice is quiet when she speaks.  
  
“Can I still come over to talk to her?”  
  
“Are you kidding me?” Stiles asks. “She’s probably going to want you over for dinner once a week. Not that we do regular dinners, since neither of us really cooks and she has work all the time and whatever. And I’ll be away at school – oh.”  
  
Stiles wrinkles her nose.  
  
“Ew. Do you – how do you feel about semi-long distance relationships?”  
  
Erica grins, leaning forward to press their noses together. She pauses with their mouths a few inches apart and laughs.  
  
“Do I have to warn you every time I kiss you, or can I just – ”  
  
“Oh, no,” Stiles says, wrapping her arms around Erica’s waist. “You can just.”  
  
“Shut up,” Erica says, and she kisses Stiles again.


End file.
